Dream Catch Me
by Artemisdesari
Summary: The aftermath of the Apocalypse, Dean said yes to Michael, but how will he cope with everything once the archangel leaves? And can dreams really heal? Character death, Dean/Castiel. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_I am still writing Diversus Vicis, although I must admit that it does not have my full attention. In between getting food poisoning at a recent uniform conference for work (yay for hotel food) and coming down with my manager's flu (if he tells us not to come in with it then why does he, I ask you) my mind has been elsewhere. Apparently my mind has been here, in another fic set post the season five finale and we don't even know what's going to happen yet! _

_I'm not sure if I'm continuing this yet, though the likelihood is that I am since I haven't even got to the part relevant to the title yet. I figure if I split my time evenly between this and Diversus, I should be able to keep on top of things._

_Title is inspired by Newton Faulkner's song Dream Catch me, and this author's note is in real danger of becoming longer than the chapter.  
_

_**Disclaimer:** I still don't own them, if I did the UST would swiftly become otherwise and we would all be treated to a nice show. Safe to say that I don't own, but I like to play with them, which is probably much more fun._

_Dedicated to all the girls in the guild, you know who you are.  
_

Dream Catch Me.

Sam says 'yes' to Lucifer in Detroit exactly six months after Death rose, just as the fallen Morning Star said he would. Dean never actually finds out why, they got separated by _angels_ of all things and when Dean had finally found his brother three days later, it had not been Sam at all.

He barely escaped with his life.

The only reason that Dean _did_ escape is Castiel. Without the timely intervention of the falling angel he would have been just another corpse, just another nameless,_ useless_, body. In the eight months that follow, he comes to rely heavily on his friend. He also gets to see first hand the effect that rebellion against Heaven is having on Cas. If anything, knowing that it is his fault that Castiel is so lessened and it hurts almost as much as the pain of losing Sam because now there is no way that they can both walk away from this. It is either him or his brother.

In the end he says 'yes' to Michael.

He makes sure that he puts conditions on it, there is _no_ way that he is going to say yes and then be forced to watch through his own eyes as Castiel is killed for disobedience. He makes Michael promise that Cas will survive, that not only will his friend _survive_ but that he will be restored to his full power and position within Heaven with no repercussions. Dean fully expects Michael to say no. He is surprised when the archangel agrees to his terms.

Dean never thought to add any terms for himself, never thought that Michael would keep his promise made only months, and yet years, ago. He expects to be left either dead at the end of this or as a burnt out husk.

Neither is what actually happens to him.

He wakes up next to Sam's dead body, having an archangel fling itself from you like it's _ass_ is on fire will leave a person unconscious after all, but he knows what happened. He remembers it clear as day, remembers watching as Lucifer begged Michael to see the truth, to see what mankind has done to the precious and wondrous gift given to them. He feels the sorrow in Michael as the archangel disagrees, tells Lucifer that he does not understand, that he never will. He watched the battle with the hope that he would be killed, not because he wanted Lucifer to win but because he does not think he can live without Sam.

Now he gets to test that theory.

It is three days until Castiel comes to Dean. The clear up has been extensive, is still going on and likely will be for many years to come, this is the first time that his superiors will have let him take a moment to go to the vessel and from the expression on a face that should be stony, Dean knows that he wishes that he had been able to come sooner. The hunter's arms are still wrapped around his brother's corpse, long gone cold and discoloured, he reeks of death, decay and despair, knows he does because he can _smell_ it on his own skin. Still, he does not fight when Castiel pulls him to his feet, pulls him away from Sam, just follows, meek, grief stricken and _tired_ from too long spent as everyone else's puppet.

The angel stares up at him for a long moment before resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says and though the old power is back in his voice, it is still soft and genuinely sorrowful. "I'm so very sorry," and the hunter sags into the hand on his left shoulder, so close to the mark that Castiel left there, feels tears that have not yet been shed fill his eyes as he leans forward and buries his face in Cas's trench coat. His breath eases out of him in one, long, agonised sigh and he feels the angel's arms slide around him, holding him tight and clinging to him.

Somewhere, far, far, in the back of his mind, it occurs to him that Castiel is also grieving for Sam.

"Tell me what you want," the angel whispers, that same voice of gravel that soothed him after Sam said yes, "tell me what you need."

"I just need...." he does not know what he needs, what he wants, all that he knows is that he cannot be here, looking at Sam's lifeless face. He cannot hold that vigil again. "I need time, I need space," and just like that he pushes himself away from Castiel, squares his shoulders and tilts his chin up high and walks away.

Cas does not follow, though his eyes burn into Dean's back, and the hunter knows that when he is needed the angel will be there, just as he always has been.

_This angst was not my original idea, nor was Sam being dead, it just happened. Oops._

_Artemis  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_It's concerning when one story comes more easily than another. These are going to be short chapters, mostly because I can only write so much angst at a time and this is so very much more angsty than I had thought it would be._

Chapter One.

For the first week after he leaves the warehouse Dean gets drunk. Blind drunk. More than likely it is a miracle that he does not get arrested for disorderly behaviour or drunk driving. He tries not to think about it too hard.

For the first few nights he is so drunk that he does not dream, he simply passes out and wakes the next morning with a head that feels like it is full of tiny men tap dancing, a mouth that quite probably tastes the same as the motel room carpet and the urgent need to give worship to the great porcelain god, something he does with a great deal of fervour.

He is always alone when he wakes in varying states of undress, the first morning he woke up with one leg out of his jeans and one leg in, the next day he woke up with his jeans off, boots on, and wearing his over shirt but not his t-shirt, it all sort of went down hill from there. It is a relief to be alone when he wakes, not that he honestly thinks he would have been able to do much about it even if he had managed to bring a girl back to the room with him, because it means that he avoids the awkward morning after the night before thing. He can live with that.

Aspirin on board, greasy breakfast that he does not really have the stomach for eaten, and he hits the road again, not going anywhere, just driving away from the warehouse and away from the memory of Sam's dead body and hauntingly empty eyes. In the evenings the cycle begins again and because he does not dream for those first few nights, he tries to delude himself into thinking that he will not, that maybe this time he has gotten away with it.

He is wrong.

In every bar there is one barmaid or man that you should never push, Dean knows this from long experience, unfortunately tonight he is just the right side of drunk to throw that life lesson out of the window and annoy the one woman he should not have done. He finds himself not nearly drunk enough and thrown out of the only bar in the small, nowhere, town, that he has found himself in. He goes back to the motel anyway.

This motel room is like so many others from his life, gaudy wallpaper and worn down furniture. A mix match of different people's lives as they pass through nowhere to continue on the road to nothingness. It is not home, the closest that Dean has to that is a black muscle car that carries more painful memories at the moment than he cares to think about, but the room is a roof over his head and a bed to lie on, if not sleep well in.

He dreams and for the first time in too long it is not the dreams of Hell that plague him this night. Instead it is that moment, that horrible moment when Micheal confronted Lucifer for the first time in millennia. He dreams of their angry words as Michael worked himself into a rage strong enough to allow him to complete the task that his Father had lain on him, he dreams of the moment that he looked out through eyes clouded by Michael's grace and sees his _brother_, not Lucifer. He knows that he should see the devil, that there is likely nothing left of Sam inside the body anymore, but it is his brother he sees there. It is his brother who looks confused as the blade slides between his ribs and it is his brother who whispers '_why_' as his legs go out from under him.

He feels Michael's grief all over again, brilliant, stabbing, raw and ancient. This is something that Michael has felt since he tossed Lucifer into the pit and even the anger cannot cover it up. He wakes up with his cheeks wet with tears and he does not know whether he is shedding them for _his_ brother or for _Michael's_.

Dean does not sleep again that night, but it does not stop him from remembering.

The second dream is not the same as the first, this time he remembers saying 'yes' to Michael. He remembers the agony of when Micheal joined with him and filled him with grace. He had thought that it would be easy, that there would be some sense of peace that would fill him when he let the archangel in. Instead it was pain like he has only experienced once and that was for nearly thirty years. This time he wakes _screaming_.

Night after night it is the same, the same dreams, the same story, Sam saying yes, Dean saying yes, Michael killing Lucifer, killing his brother. He wakes screaming, he wakes crying and sometimes he wakes wanting nothing more than the past, nothing more than Hell because even that was more bearable than living without Sam, living without Cas.

By the middle of the second week he is almost too tired to care anymore, he cannot sleep, he cannot eat. He simply drinks. That is the first time that the dreams are different.

He remembers, they are always memories now, but this time he is with Castiel as he tells the angel that he is going to say yes, that he is going to sell himself in exchange for Cas getting his existence back. It seems that these days he is always giving himself away and never thinking of the consequences. Castiel is not happy.

"It's time you stopped sacrificing yourself, Dean, it's time you saw your own worth!" His arms are no longer limp at his sides, they are in the air and his normally terrible posture is stiff with anger. He cannot do this anymore, he cannot keep taking and taking and losing all the people that he cares about. It is all over for him now, the decision is made and Michael has agreed to the terms and Dean is just making Castiel aware of them.

It is not his fault that Castiel does not like them.

"It's not that I didn't like them, Dean," Castiel says and it is not the Castiel of the memory, it is the one who has been restored to full power and grace. "It's simply that you need to stop having this low opinion of yourself. You need to _understand _your worth." It is a reitteration of his past self's opinion, but even then the words hold no weight.

"What do you want, Cas?" He asks, slumping against the motel room bed of his memory.

"I want you to tell me what you need, I want you to understand that this guilt is unnecessary," Dean snorts. "I am serious, Dean." He says, settling next to the hunter and leaning his elbows against his knees. He has retained so many human traits, learnt so many of them in their fruitless quest for an answer that never came. As much as Dean _wanted_ Cas to seem more human when they first met, now he just thinks that he has ruined the angel. "Promise me that you will stop this."

"Stop what?" The hunter asks, even in a dream he is holding a whiskey bottle in his hand and taking a swig. The angel eyes the amber liquid.

"Tormenting yourself," the reply is soft, blue eyes showing a concern and an empathy that Dean has never thought that Castiel could feel. "Whatever it is that you punish yourself for, you have paid your debt a thousand times over."

Dean wakes in tears.

_I'm going to go and sit in a corner and cry now._

_Artemis  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_I would say that I love writing this fic, except apparently my angst bunnies are really out for me at the moment. On the plus this gives me an excuse to eat Malteaser bunnies in revenge. I'm developing a sweet tooth to rival a Trickster here._

Chapter Two

The following weeks are not really any better. Dean starts hunting again, but only because it is what he has always done and not out of any real desire to do so. There is some comfort in knowing that he can find people and save them from the things that go bump in the night, but at the same time there is the hollow stab of knowing that for all he can help _these_ people, he failed his _brother_. When he is not following leads, or killing the monster of the week, he still drinks, still tries to bury his agony under a continual stream of alcohol.

Hunting without his brother now is so different to hunting without him before. In the past he always knew that his brother would be on the other end of the proverbial phone line if he needed him. Now there is nothing and for the first time in his life Dean feels _lonely_. It is not a nice feeling.

In the end, he goes to see Bobby.

Much as he cares about the older hunter, and he does because the man has been more of a father to him over the years than his dad ever was, going to see him is not something that he particularly _wants_ to do. Bobby is a reminder, another one, of all the people that he has failed, all the people who have been hurt or killed because of him, the ones he lost, the ones he let down. It is selfish, so very selfish, of him to look at his surrogate father and feel only his _own_ pain at knowing that it is down to him that Bobby is confined to this chair. He _knows_ how selfish it is, but he cannot help it, the feelings over run him, and every night his dreams are over run by the people like Bobby, like Jo and Ellen, and the life that his existence has taken from them.

Bobby, of course, is as scathing and observant as ever. He notices the sleepless nights and the drinking. He notices the screams and the tears and is able to do little more than lie in his bed and wait for the dreams to end and morning to come. Dean knows that the older man drinks at night, a bottle of beer here and a glass of whiskey there, but it is not to the extent that he does and the sole remaining Winchester knows why. Unlike Dean, Bobby has accepted, finally, that Sam really is _gone,_ there is no power in the universe that can bring him back to them and they have absolutely no _right_ to ask it.

When he tries to explain this to Dean, the younger hunter leaves.

Dean has allowed himself to hope that time away from Bobby would allow him to get a handle, get a grip, on the memories of the people he has failed. It has not. If anything it makes it worse and he knows that he cannot continue like this even if he refuses to openly acknowledge it. Hunting is dangerous enough as it is, Dean is proof enough of that on his own, he does not need to add sleepless nights and excessive quantities of alcohol to the mix because that is a surefire route to an early grave.

It does not stop the drinking.

He does not stop because without the alcohol he is terrified to close his eyes, he is terrified that he is going to see Sam's dead body or Castiel's frightened eyes as he gazes upon Michael in a Dean suit. He does not stop because without it everything is too raw and too fresh and the dream memories are all too real.

"This isn't reality, Dean," Castiel tells him during one such night, no booze, no motel room, just the back seat of his Impala and the helpless agony of being trapped in his own mind.

He wants to _say_ all of this, tell the angel that it is real for him as the Micheal of his memory calls Lucifer a failure and as the devil in Sam's body responds.

"_Better a failure than inadequate, better to think than be a mindless drone obeying a heartless and uncaring Father."_

The words that hiss from Sam's mouth still hurt, even in memory, because even though Lucifer is referring to himself and Michael, Dean knows that they are just as true of the brothers Winchester.

He cannot say any of this, because even in a dream he is as helpless now as he was when Michael took control of him.

"You can't let this control you anymore," Castiel continues and brushes his fingertips against Dean's forehead, releasing the hunter from the traps that his memory has created. "It's killing you."

"What do _you_ care?" Dean snaps viciously and knows as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he does not mean it but cannot seem to stop himself. "You're back in Heaven, you got your mojo back, you've got what you _want_ so why do you give a _damn_?"

"Don't _ever_," there is a tremble in Castiel's voice that betrays the angel's rage as he steps close and lets the cold angel mask slip for a moment, "presume to know what I _want_." He is so close to the hunter that Dean can feel the warmth from the angel's body even in his dream state. "Never presume I don't care, Dean, I have no desire to see you _dead_."

"Cas..." He does not know what to say to that, does not know what to think with Castiel pressed almost against him and the soft huff of breaths that the angel does not need to take ghosting across his chin.

"Tell me what you need, Dean," it is a plea and an order. A gentle request that sends Dean's mind skittering away from all reasonable places and for an irrational moment he is tempted to lean forward and find comfort in Castiel's lips and hands, if the angel will let him.

Instead he forces himself to wake up.

The room is cold, the outside world chilled and he can still feel the angel's warmth across his body, still smell the musty scent of feathers and the freshness of ozone. Part of him thinks that he should call Castiel back, should do it so that he is not alone anymore.

He does not think he deserves the companionship, not with all of the people he has failed.

_I need to find a happy place, any recommendations?_

_Artemis  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_I wrote the major Dean part of this while being screamed at on the phone by a customer at work. It's amazing the effect that my job has on me. _

Chapter Three.

Dean finally breaks almost three weeks later, finally allows himself to crumble and let the walls around his heart and mind shatter. He cannot do this anymore, cannot be alone and half dead inside as he wonders where it all went wrong, wonders where the desire to road trip around the country with his younger brother hunting, and killing, evil became the desire to curl up in a corner and die alone. That is his default state of being, after all, _alone_.

He is not quite certain _why_ that is, why he always seems to lose the people that matter the most to him, why he seems perfectly capable of driving them away or getting them killed without making a huge amount of effort in the matter. He has lost so much, lost so many, and he cannot face the possibility of losing anyone else, not again, and he knows that is why he keeps on pushing Castiel away.

He cannot face the idea of losing the angel too.

Somehow, though, no matter how often he says it and how many times he tells his friend that he does not want to see him, Castiel still seems to turn up in his dreams. The angel still tries to help him, or wants to help him, and Dean cannot understand why. He pushes and he prods, he snaps and lashes out time and again and still the angel comes back, always asking the same question. What does Dean want? What does Dean need?

The hunter is not sure that he can bring himself to put his wishes into words.

"Tell me, Dean," Castiel is there again, there as Dean dreams about sliding a sword through his brother's ribs, "please."

"Tell you _what_?" He demands. "Tell you what I _want_?" He is tired, so very tired, of that question, tired of the thoughts that run through his mind every time he hears it.

"Yes," Castiel is close again and it is as though all the lessons Dean tried to teach him about personal space have been utterly forgotten.

"Alright," his hands come up in the air for a moment, slapping back down against his legs as he gives in to Castiel's questioning eyes. "I want Bobby to walk again," he is rewarded by a confused tilt of the angel's head and a tightening about the eyes.

"I want Sam back," he continues after a moment, then lets the demands come thick and fast.

"I want dad back.

"I want it so that this whole mess never happened.

"I want to _not_ remember Hell.

"I want to stop seeing Sam's lifeless _corpse_ every time I close my eyes!

"I want to stop losing the people I care about!

"I want _you_ to stop being the cold, heartless, _dick_ you were when I first met you!

"I want to feel _alive_," he finishes and he knows that some of his demands are unreasonable and far beyond Castiel's ability. He is too angry, too _hurt_ to care. "Can you make _any_ of that happen?"

"I..." He can see Cas's confusion, the way that the angel seems almost shocked by the amount of agony that Dean has been carrying and holding tight to his chest. It is rare to see Castiel speechless and the hunter thinks that maybe he should feel some sense of accomplishment.

It just leaves him more hollow.

"Then what use are you?" He whispers and sees Cas take a step back as though he has struck the angel. Castiel bows his head, eyes averted and in that moment Dean wants nothing more than to step close to him, to rest his hands on the angel's cheeks and feel the warmth and the life there and remind himself that _he_ is alive too. "You can't help me, Cas, I'm too..." his voice falters and he is ashamed to feel grief welling within him, ashamed to feel it float so close to the surface that it takes his legs out from under him.

When the angel reaches out in comfort, awkward and unsure, Dean jerks away from.

"Just leave me alone, Cas. I don't _want_ your help," he knows that it is the grief talking, the anger at appearing so weak and he hopes that Castiel understands that. So when the angel does as he is orders and abandons him to this overpowering emotion, the hunter feels something in him break beyond all hope he has of ever fixing it.

He needs Castiel and he cannot help but think that he just lost the angel for good.

_I think I hate myself right now....._

_Artemis  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_For those of you I've made cry (and while this a great compliment to my writing it makes me very sad deep inside) you will be pleased to know that while writing this I reduced myself to tears. In the middle of the staff room at work. On Monday. At lunch. I had quite the audience and none of them understood. It was quite the public display and I have been mocked mercilessly about it since. I also want to add that the original plan was for a smutty little one shot of Cas helping Dean through Sam's death. I don't know how it became this and I doubt I will ever know. I think my brain hates me._

Chapter Four.

If Dean had thought he was lonely when Cas was only visiting his dreams, it is nothing when compared to _this_. It has taken _losing_ the angel's presence for him to realise just how much comfort he was able to gain from Castiel's interference. Even as hard as he had fought against it, he knows, now, that the angel has been a calming force and a constant.

He does not have that any more.

Now he is _angry_, grieving, _reckless_. He starts to get stupid, more foolish, takes risks that he should not because there is no one left to stop him and no one left who cares. It costs him. At first it's little things, an extra bruise here or a cut there, a concussion because he was not paying attention to the ghost when he should have been. Eventually, however, it leaves him lying in a mouldering warehouse in a pool of his own blood. He is dying and he is alone and it is his worst nightmare come to life.

He does not fear _dying,_ he has done that a few times, it is the _alone_ part that frightens him, with no one to know and no one to care, a nameless, faceless, corpse who will not even get a hunter's funeral. His vision begins to grey around the edges, he is losing the fight, and for a moment he thinks he sees his angel, trench coat billowing around him and face contorted by fury and anguish. When he blacks out he figures that it was a trick of the blood loss.

He comes back to himself for a moment in the hospital. It is a brief period of bright lights and sterile scents, the loud beeps of machines and the urgent voices of doctors and nurses. He fights to stay awake when they inject him with some sort of anaesthetic.

He fails.

It is not Heaven that he finds himself in, he realises very quickly, because if it is then the place needs a touch up. The place he finds himself in is dank, dark, an old house with rotting floors and peeling wallpaper. He is at the bottom of a flight of stairs and when he looks up them he sees Castiel, Cas, his _angel_, and the powerful being looks furious.

"I can't make Bobby walk again," Cas says as he begins to make a slow descent, "I can't give Sam back to you."

It feels like so long ago that Dean made these demands, determined that the angel prove that all this has been worth it without actually asking for it. Just wanting back some of the things that he has lost, that others have lost because of him, suddenly seems far more selfish than he had first imagined.

"I can't bring either of you parents back," another step, "and nor can I make it so that this never happened," Castiel is drawing closer with every word and Dean finds himself shrinking away, retreating from the weighted and angry glare.

"I can't take away your memories of Hell and I can't stop the dreams," the angel reaches the bottom step and continues forward, voice tight. "But I am _not_ cold, I'm not _heartless_ and I am _tired_ of watching you _destroy_ yourself." It hurts to have his own words thrown back at him, hurts to realise the pressure that he has put on the angel and it is another ache added to the pain he carries with him all the time.

Castiel's control is slipping now, rage making his eyes seem to burn as Dean's back collides softly with a wall and now there is nowhere left to run. He does not think that he could leave, though, even if he wanted to because Cas is _shaking_ with the need to keep his anger in check.

"Sam is _gone_," the angel hisses and Dean flinches, a hot retort on his lips for the first time in too long and still it is lost as Castiel continues, "and, _yes_, it hurts, but don't you ever, _ever,_ make the mistake of thinking that he was all you had left in this world. Don't you _ever_ think that he was the only one who cared about you and the only thing you had to live for!"

He has tears in his eyes now, hot, blinding and agonising, and they are not brought up by the reminder that his brother has been torn from him, they are caused by the rawness of Castiel's tone, the way that the angel's voice shakes with passion and conviction. He still cannot bring himself to believe it.

Truth is, he does not _want_ to.

If he allows himself to accept Cas's words, that gives him another person to lose, someone else to break his heart. Even if he survives this, whatever this is, he knows that he will not be able to go on if he loses someone else that he loves.

"Bobby has given so much for you," the angel is in full swing, has a great deal to say and it not letting up. "Is _this_ how you repay him?" They are so close that if he wanted to, Dean could reach out and touch the angel. "Do you really think this is what Sam would want for you?" The anger is beginning to drain from Cas now and the angel's voice is quieter when he continues. "Is this how you repay _me_? It's time you started to _live_, Dean."

"I can't," the hunter whispers and Castiel makes a broken noise, puts a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezes, "I just... I can't... I can't do it on my own." Tears that he has tried to control tumble free, desperate for release, desperate for his loss to be acknowledged.

"You won't have to," Castiel pulls him into a tight embrace and the hunter _clings_ to him, fists tight in the ridiculous trench coat, as the pain and anguish of too long alone and too long unheard finally breaks free. He is a broken hearted child and Cas _comforts_ him. "All you have to do is _ask_, Dean." Castiel whispers, voice a low rumble and with one hand tight on the back of Dean's neck, fingers tangling through the short hair there.

"Who? You?" It is the broken question of a destroyed soul. Dean has been through so much, _lost_ more than any man deserves to and he cannot believe himself worthy of aid from anyone. "Heaven..."

"Will always be there," Castiel interrupts, forcing the hunter to look at him, to meet blue eyes that are compassionate but without pity. Blue eyes that have a grief in them that Dean had not considered, had never once thought that Cas would be mourning the loss of a friend as Dean mourned the loss of a brother. The angel wipes away tears with almost curious fingers, tracing them on Dean's cheeks and the hunter leans into the touch. It is soft, gentle, comforting, _tender_ and even though a part of his brain is telling him to stop, the man leans forward and presses his lips to the angel's.

Castiel does not push him away.

It is not deep, it is not dirty. It is simply the kind of kiss that says all of the things that Dean cannot bring himself to put into words. The thanks for understanding, the love that he has always felt for the angel and never been able to acknowledge, the desire to live so that he can do this properly. It does not change the fact that he is still damaged and still broken and it will take more than one confrontation in a dream world to put him back together.

Consciousness is calling him when they break apart, and even in this place Castiel's lips are kiss swollen and his hair is tousled, and Dean fights it as hard as he can, does not want to lose the _hope_ that he has found here.

"You'll be there when I wake up?" He asks, afraid, nervous, not wanting to be alone.

"Always," Castiel replies and it is just this side of cheesy but it is exactly what the hunter needs to hear right now.

When he opens his eyes to the too bright of a hospital room he is relieved to see the tan of Castiel's trench coat to his left and feel the familiar burn of ancient eyes.

_Yeah, my brain really hates me. There'll be one, maybe two more chapters after this. I've not abandoned Diversus either, I just can't quite get into the headspace for it when this bunny was nibbling my ankles._

_Artemis  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_This one ended up longer than I thought it would so there's definitely another bit after this. I apologise profusely to Bobby about something that Dean says, but it's still a valid point._

Chapter Five.

Dean fluctuates in and out of consciousness for days, so much so that he loses track of time. Every time that he wakes Castiel is there watching him, elbows on knees and chin rested on clasped hands. The angel's blue eyes are always open and always filled with concern and something suspiciously tender. Dean never mentions it.

When he wakes this time there is another in the room, he knows that it is a woman by the gentle scent that drifts to his nostrils and the soft whisper of her voice as she addresses Cas.

"Sir, you can't be in here," she says and Dean knows that she is telling Castiel to leave, forces his eyes open so that he can look at her. "This room is for family only and if I have to ask again I'm calling security."

"I promised him I would stay," the angel responds, literal to a fault, and Dean is so painfully grateful to him in that moment for not bowing to the pressure the nurse is putting on him, for not telling her the truth.

"Well that's very nice," because she is still a nurse and this is her domain and even an _angel_ is not going to succeed in intimidating her, "but you're still not family and that means that you can't stay."

"Please," the words are hoarse, the hunters throat rough through lack of use and the tube that they must have put down it at some point. It hurts to speak and yet he cannot quite stop himself. "He's all I have," and he hates how lonely and desperate that sounds. "Please." Dean watches as the nurse looks between them, the way that she watches as Castiel lifts his head from his hands and turns his entire attention on Dean, just like he always used to do.

"Your family?" She asks, because apparently she has to and while Dean has been able to gather the strength to ask her to let Cas stay, he cannot bring himself to answer that question, turns his face away from woman and angel, and feels tears seep out unbidden, curses the weakness that roars through him.

"Dead, all of them," Castiel says and his voice is rough with something like pity, grief even, and the nurse touches a soft hand to the back of Dean's, squeezes his fingers in understanding and it occurs to the hunter that Cas could have just whammied her into letting him stay.

"I'll see what I can do," she says, walking away and leaving them alone.

As soon as she is gone Castiel is out of the chair and stood next to the hunter, head bowed and fingers tracing the veins on the back of Dean's hand, seemingly fascinated by them and at the same time hesitant. After a long moment he takes the man's hand in his own and Dean absently notes that the angel's skin is hotter than it should be, wonders if that is because Cas is an angel or if it is the drugs making their way through his system. Instead he asks why the angel did not just manipulate the nurse into letting him stay.

"It doesn't work like that," the angel responds, "if it did Michael would have been able to take possession of his true vessel long ago." Which explains a lot really. "How are you feeling?" He asks then and Dean huffs something that could be a laugh but that is still too broken and too raw.

"Awful, thanks for asking," he mutters, running his free hand across his face and if Castiel is surprised by the honest admission the angel does not say anything about it. Instead he nods.

"When you have healed, you and I will need to talk," Cas squeezes the hunter's hand once, firmly, "and it will need to be done without the veils of dreaming between us." The idea of talking to Castiel openly, honestly, about what he has been going through the last few months, the last few years really, is terrifying to Dean. The hunter does not talk about emotions, he does not talk about his fears or his grief and he knows that it is unhealthy but the job causes him enough physical pain as it is without him succumbing to the emotional pain as well. Perhaps, however, he owes this to Cas, owes it to Sam to be honest with someone and to at least _try_ to get his life on track again. Come to think of it, he probably owes it to Bobby too.

Castiel breaks the train of thought by brushing his lips across Dean's in a kiss that is barely there and all the promise of what Dean could have.

"Rest," the angel insists, breath ghosting across the hunter's cheek, "heal. When your body is well I will look to your soul." It is a gentle assurance, one that should have Dean frightened and angry. Instead it is a comfort and he lets himself drift to sleep once more.

They discharge Dean a week later, and the hunter is _very_ glad of Mr. Dean Hunt's credit card because this stay has been very expensive. Castiel escorts him from the building, away from the crisp, sterile, smell and the nurses who bustle and bully until their patients do as they are told. He leads Dean straight to his car and the hunter has never been so happy to see his baby in all his life. She is gleaming in the sunlight and somehow he knows that Cas took care of her for him.

It is a simple joy and he immediately feels guilty for letting himself experience it.

If Castiel's answering glare is anything to go by, the angel does not approve of this latest addition to Dean's guilt complex. The hunter wonders if it will drive the angel to abandon him after all. Instead Castiel slides into the passenger seat and waits for Dean to join him.

The hunter drives for hours, with no destination in mind and no real idea of what he is planning to do or where he will go. His extended stay in the hospital has left him weak and his encounter with the business end of a werewolf's claws has added to his collection of scars and aches. When Castiel tells him to take a left, Dean obeys without a thought, allowing the angel to direct them to an unpopulated stretch of road, one that winds and twists around a mountain. He stops when the angel tells him to as well, watches as Castiel gets out of the car and follows when he beckons.

"Is this the part where you start trying to _heal_ my _soul_?" Dean asks, leaning against the hood of the car next to his angel, his friend, close enough that their shoulders touch.

"No," Castiel does not look at him, but his head tilts to one side a little and his eyes narrow in that way they always seem to when he is trying to work out a Dean shaped problem. "This is where I tell you that when you're ready to share your pain with me, I will be here." Both fall silent and Dean waits for the angel to push, like Sam would.

It does not happen.

"This thing," he says instead, now unable to look at Castiel himself and hoping that the angel understands, "between us, it won't... it won't make you _fall_?" He asks it because he is genuinely concerned, asks it because if it will cause harm to Cas he will give it up and he asks it because he is not entirely sure what the 'thing' is or where they stand with each other now.

"No matter what you do, Dean, your actions won't cause me to fall," Castiel's hand brushes across the back of Dean's but he does not take it, seems to understand that the hunter is not entirely comfortable with this just yet. "The only one who can make me fall is _me_ and I have no intention of doing so."

"Good," because there is nothing else to say to that, no other excuses to give.

They stand in silence as they watch the sun set over the mountains.

_I think I wrote something vaguely comforting and maybe the angst didn't utterly break my brain. Praise be to Castiel._

_Artemis  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_So I've brought this one to a close and can finally go back to Diversus Vicis (shameless self plugging I'm afraid) and finally get on with it. Hooray for weekends and collegues who mock me. Also, season 1 reruns tonight, I get to watch the boys when they were all young and less broken. This is going to be weird._

_Finally, thanks again to all readers and especially my reviewers!  
_

Chapter Six.

It takes time, months even, before Dean begins to notice a change in himself, before he notices that he laughs more and grieves less. It is subtle, a moment of enjoyment here and a guilt free hour with Castiel there. The angel is not always nearby, he still has obligations to Heaven after all, but he is there when it matters, to catch Dean when he breaks and that is something that the hunter does often over the months.

He is actually remarkably alright with the fact that the angel cannot be there all the time, thinks that this is probably because he would feel stifled if Cas were to always be there looking at him with wide, mournful, blue eyes that beg Dean to open his heart and spill his soul. Sometimes it is just nice to have an evening alone, a morning to watch the sun rise and to think about his life, about Sam, about Bobby and all the things that have happened to him. Dean comes to realise that he has been through far more than any one man ever should.

He also realises that he is alright with that, too.

His relationship with Castiel shifts subtly over time as he heals. He knows that he cares for the angel, _wants_ him, but it takes a while for him to accept that he is allowed this love, which is what it is after all. It takes him even longer to realise that he can have this thing with Cas without having to feel guilty about being given something that Sam had torn from him.

This is not to say that it is all clear sailing. Dean still has personal space issues, which he attributes more to his time in Hell than anything, he still has difficulty displaying his affection openly and healthily. Castiel helps him with that too, even though for a long while their relationship is little more that soft kisses and exploring hands. It is not that Dean does not want more, it is simply that it takes him a while to come to terms with the fact that he can have it, that Cas will give it to him freely and easily because he _wants_ to and not because those are his orders.

It has not been easy, still is not easy, the nightmares lessen over time, just as Castiel has promised him that they would, and when Dean is up to it, they talk about Sam, Jo, Ellen and the others, they visit Bobby and eventually, nearly five months after Dean was released from the hospital, the two hunters crack under their shared grief and take a night together where they mourn for the brother and son that they have lost.

Castiel does not intrude upon that.

He is there the next morning, however, when both wake with monstrous headaches and bruised fists. He gives them coffee and watches as the tiny cracks in their souls fuse back together just a little.

It takes time, it is slow, sometimes agonisingly so, and Dean will argue with Castiel and push him away when everything gets too much. No matter what he says and no matter what he does, however, Cas is always back within hours. Sometimes the time away has been enough to let the hunter get a handle on his anger, guilt and self hate fuelled, sometimes it takes a little longer, but the important part is that Castiel is there and the angel forgives him, holds him if need be, and that he knows that he is loved for who, not what, he is.

When the pity party gets too much, because Dean has gotten good at those, Cas sometimes loses his temper, regrets it instantly and apologises, but those are the moments that help Dean to see just how selfish he is being in all of this. Those moments help him see that he is not the only one affected and that watching him carve himself into little pieces of sorrow and grief are gradually breaking down his friend, and he cannot use the word 'lover' in his mind just yet. Some days Dean feels that he could gladly let himself die, and then he remembers that by doing so he would cause his surrogate father and his angel a great deal of grief. If their sorrow were only a fraction of his devastation at losing Sam he knows that it would be too much for either of them to bear.

It encourages him to start living again.

He knows he is as close to fixed as he is going to get the night that he and Cas finally fulfill that promise made by the kiss they shared in his coma dream. It has been so long for Dean, and as far as he knows Castiel is still a virgin, and he is terrified that one touch of Cas's hands will cause him to fall to pieces before they can get to the really fun part. It does not happen the way that he fears it will, they take their time and he would be tempted to say that it is _hours_. Rough hands explore smooth skin, fingers run curiously over scars and eyes meet and lock and linger. Dean feels utterly bared by the experience, feels like Castiel has seen through every barrier and every lie and straight into that part of himself that the hunter has tried to keep locked away and hidden from view.

It _hurts,_ but somehow it is right and while he knows that he will never stop missing his brother, never stop finding things that he knows Sam would appreciate, he also knows that he is not alone, he is not utterly unloved. He has the love of an angel, which is eternal, and the future will be hard and life will throw stones at him all the time, but he has Castiel to help him through it all.

That is all that he can really ask.

_So I didn't end it on a happy high, but click the little button one last time?_

_Artemis  
_


End file.
